A Thorny First Impression

If there was a world record for "Fastest Descent into Madness," I was pretty sure I’d just shattered it.

One minute, I was in my perfectly normal flower shop, muttering sarcastic comments at a suspicious delivery box, and the next, I was stuck in a squishy, red-soaked meadow surrounded by gossiping roses. To top it off, there was a stranger with disturbingly perfect cheekbones staring at me like I was the second coming of floral Jesus.

“You’ve arrived,” he said, his words slow and deliberate, as if he was trying to make them sound important. He even had the audacity to bow. “The prophecy has been fulfilled.”

“Uh… what?” That was all I could manage at the moment, still grappling with the fact that the ground I was standing on felt like wet pancakes.

The stranger straightened, his piercing eyes locking onto mine. He looked like someone who definitely spent too much time practicing dramatic poses in front of a mirror. “You,” he said, pausing for effect, “are the Rose Queen.”

The roses around me rustled in agreement, their whispers carrying an almost judgmental tone.

“Oh, sure. That makes total sense,” I replied, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’ve always dreamed of being queen of… uh… whatever this squishy disaster is.” I gestured vaguely at the crimson-soaked landscape, half expecting one of the roses to snap back at me.

The stranger frowned, clearly unimpressed by my lack of enthusiasm. “This is the Crimson Meadow,” he said, his tone almost reverent. “A sacred place where prophecies are born.”

“It feels like someone spilled ketchup on a sponge,” I muttered under my breath, earning a few more offended rustles from the surrounding roses. “Anyway, let’s get one thing straight—I’m not a queen. I’m just a florist. A really underpaid, sleep-deprived florist.”

“And yet,” the stranger said, arching one impeccably groomed eyebrow, “the Veil has chosen you.”

Oh, right. The stupid veil. I reached up to yank it off my head, but no matter how hard I pulled, it refused to budge. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I groaned, tugging at the fabric with increasing desperation. “This thing is glued to my skull!”

“The Veil cannot be removed,” the stranger said, clearly enjoying my frustration. “It has bound itself to you as proof of your destiny.”

“Destiny?!” I scoffed, throwing my hands in the air. “Listen, Mr. Dramatic Cheekbones, the only thing I’m destined for is unpaid overtime and caffeine addiction.”

His expression didn’t change. In fact, it somehow grew even more serious. “My name is Vin,” he said, clearly ignoring my nickname for him, “and I am here to guide you on your journey as the Rose Queen.”

“Great,” I said, my voice flat. “Do I at least get dental with this job? Or is it just thorns and existential crises?”

Before Vin could answer, one of the roses let out a loud, theatrical sigh. “She doesn’t sound very queenly,” it said in a high-pitched, melodramatic voice.

“Right?” another rose chimed in. “She’s so… sarcastic. Shouldn’t queens be more regal?”

“Excuse me,” I said, glaring at the flowers. “I don’t take life advice from plants. You don’t even have legs!”

“Enough!” Vin snapped, and the roses immediately fell silent. He turned back to me, his jaw tight. “The Council is waiting. Follow me.”

“The Council?” I echoed, reluctantly following as he turned and began walking across the meadow. The squelching sound of the ground beneath my sneakers was almost unbearable. “What, am I about to get lectured by a bunch of hydrangeas?”

Vin didn’t respond, his back stiff as he led me toward a large, ornate structure in the distance. As we approached, I realized it wasn’t a building at all—it was a throne. A massive, thorn-covered throne made entirely of roses.

“Oh, fantastic,” I muttered. “They built me a death chair. How thoughtful.”

Vin ignored my comment, gesturing for me to step forward. Surrounding the throne were dozens of rosebushes, each one vibrant and unnervingly human-like in their movements. One of them, larger and more elaborately adorned than the rest, leaned forward slightly.

“Is this her?” the bush asked, its voice deep and imposing.

“Yes,” Vin said, his tone dripping with exasperation. “This is the Rose Queen.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but before I could say a word, the large rosebush let out a loud huff. “She doesn’t look like a queen,” it said, its petals quivering with disapproval. “She looks… unrefined.”

“Well, you look like someone threw glitter on a bush, so maybe let’s not judge,” I shot back, crossing my arms.

Vin pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath.

“Silence!” the rosebush boomed. “I am Petalia Thorne, leader of the Rose Council, and I will not be insulted by the likes of you!”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said, my voice dripping with mock sincerity. “Didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, Your Royal Shrubbery.”

The other rosebushes gasped, their petals rustling dramatically. I was pretty sure one of them fainted.

“She is utterly unfit,” another rosebush—this one with a nasally voice—declared. “How can someone like this lead us? She doesn’t even respect our sacred traditions!”

“You know, you’re absolutely right,” I said, throwing my hands up. “I *am* unfit. So why don’t we just pretend this whole thing never happened, and I’ll go back to my flower shop, and you can find someone else to wear this ridiculous veil?”

“The Veil has chosen,” Vin said firmly, stepping between me and the Council. “There is no undoing its decision.”

I groaned, dragging a hand down my face. “Of course there isn’t. Because that would be too easy.”

Petalia’s petals quivered as she turned to Vin. “Guide her. Teach her our ways. And make sure she doesn’t embarrass us further.”

Vin bowed slightly. “As you wish.”

As he turned to lead me away, I shot the Council one last glare. “For the record,” I said, “your ‘queen’ thing? Not a compliment. You’re all just overgrown houseplants.”

The roses erupted into offended murmurs as I followed Vin out of the chamber, my sneakers squelching loudly against the ground.

“So,” I said, glancing at him. “What’s next on this magical mystery tour? More talking plants? A crown made of thorns? Oh, wait—don’t tell me. There’s a prophecy involved. I can feel it.”

Vin didn’t even look at me. “You’ll find out soon enough,” he said, his tone clipped.

“Oh, good,” I said, my sarcasm in full force. “I *love* surprises.”

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